“Oh, Mr. Fortune, what are you going to do?”
“Do?” said Reggie reproachfully. “I? Where’s the nearest policeman?”
“Why, here,” Alice pointed at him.
“Cranston Abbas,” said Tom Beach, “and he’s only a yokel. Village constable, don’t you know.”
“Yes, you are rather remote, Colonel. What is there about you that brings the wily cracksman down here?”
“Mrs. Faulks!” Alice cried. “That woman must travel with a jeweller’s shop. There’s a chance for you, Mr. Fortune. Get her rubies back and you’ll win her heart.”
“Jewelled in fifteen holes. I’d be afraid of burglars. Mrs. Beach, you’re frivolous, and the Colonel’s going to burst into tears. Will anyone tell me what did happen? We were all in the drawing-room—no. Where were you, Cosdon?”
“Writing letters here, old thing.”
“Quite so. And the servants?”
“All in the servants’ hall at supper!” Colonel Beach said. “They are all right.”